


Same Shit, Different Day

by Lavanya_Six



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavanya_Six/pseuds/Lavanya_Six
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half man. Half machine. All cape.</p>
<p>Not that Colin Wallis has any other choice left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Shit, Different Day

Checking Asimovian circuits... Complete.  
Checking mood stabilizers… Complete.  
Checking glandular implants... Complete.   
Checking nerve staples… Complete.  
Checking muscular stimulators... Complete.  
Checking self-harm limiters... Complete.  
Checking auditory surveillance... Complete.  
Checking visual surveillance... Complete.   
Checking sub-vocalization monitors... Complete.

No corruption, everything in working order. Core system is green.

Launching ARMSMASTER v1.69485470...

 

\- - - - 

 

Colin's eyelids slide back. 

He might have blinked, for all he notes the passage of time. Same room. Same ceiling. The staff... he doesn't bother learning their names. It's inefficient. Too many shifts. Too little interaction. He checks the readout in the corner of his artificial eye.

May 14th, 2011.

Not quite four months since Canberra. 

"Dragon?" he rasps, throat still raw from the feeding tube stuffed down it. 

_"Welcome back, Colin."_ The bands around his arms and legs tighten in synch with the rise and fall of her voice, physical proof it is her real voice and not one of the Butcher's imitations. 

Colin allows himself a smile as he 'ports across the hospital room. He reappears beside a table where armor is laid out in pieces. It's tinkerfabbed alloy. Ultra-tough, ultra-dense. Built for a high-end Brute like him. Still, Colin can barely move in it, but teleportation hath its benefits. The halberd... Dragon's work. He wants to know what treat she's prepared for him since he went back into hibernation, where she's taken the notes he sketched out for her months ago, but business comes first.

"Behemoth or Leviathan?" he asks. "Where?"

"Leviathan." A note of anxiety flavors Dragon's voice as she adds, "Brockton Bay." 

A hand shoots to his brow, as the Butchers seize on his surprise. It feels as if molten metal flows through his veins when stabilizers are automatically pumped in. It's enough, for now. The voices are never too loud after he first wakes up. They're saving their strength. The Fallen might worship the Endbringers, but the Butchers are their only allies on the battlefield.

"How long?" he grunts.

"Seven minutes, twenty-five seconds until landfall."

"Strider?"

"Forty-five seconds out."

Colin nods. Efficient.

 

\----

 

It's a little before ten o'clock at night, and the skyline is dismal. Brockton Bay's office buildings have fewer lights on than they should.

Or maybe as they used to, Colin supposes quietly.

The meeting hall is no more inspiring. Legend has already kicked off his stock speech, Leviathan Edition, yet somehow manages to make it sound heartfelt despite being a repetition of the last nine times Colin has heard it, which amounts to as many days. If you don't know what's coming, you can almost believe things are going to be all right. 

Colin does know. 

Uninterested, his eyes wander.

He spots Kaiser right away. The damn peacock planted himself in line-of-sight of the door, bootlickers gathered around him. The Empire is the only old guard still standing. The Asian capes are all gone. Lung's contribution to that he heard about, but the recent gang war is news to Colin. 

The rest of the villain are new faces. 

A _lot_ of them are young.

He catches Battery staring at him. For a moment, Colin wonders why she's not standing with the rest of the Wards, until suddenly he remembers what year it is.

Unnerved, Colin looks away.

At the back of his head, there's a chorus of snickers.


End file.
